Isabelle Martin's Life Is Totally Over
by thatfilmgirl
Summary: Isabelle's life as she knows it is totally over. Not only is her mom moving her 2,000 miles away from home, but it's not even to someplace cool like Los Angeles or San Francisco. No. It's Beacon Hills which is the most Boring. Place. Ever. Temporary Hiatus
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Isabelle Martin's Life Is Totally Over  
**Chapter**: 1  
**Summary**: Isabelle's life as she knows it is _totally_ over. Not only is her mom moving her 2,000 miles away from home, but it's not even to someplace cool like Los Angeles or San Francisco. No. It's Beacon Hills which is the most _Boring. Place. Ever_.

**A/N**: So... sudden inspiration. I have no idea if I'm going to continue this or not. Making this up as I go. If you want to see more, please comment :) No beta so all mistakes are mine (aka it could probably be a lot better). Like, this is pretty bad. Fragmented, stream of conscious, written in 20 minutes sorta deal because I have all these ideas in my head that I need to crank out that is no pressure, no nothing. Hence this. Maybe I'll come back down the line and make this a legit story, but for now, harken back to the days of being a 14 year old fic writer just cranking out some B.S until the big idea comes along.

Also, we're totally blaming The Sims 3 for this. It's EA/Maxis' fault.

* * *

Isabelle Martin's life was over.

It was, no matter what her mother said. It was done and over and there wasn't any turning back. It was senior year for God's sake. Three weeks before senior year and she had had everything planned. Everything set. She was dating the captain of the football team (and didn't you know? Scouts from Ohio State were totally getting ready to offer him a full scholarship) and there was homecoming and prom and who knew? Maybe being on the dance team would benefit more than just her glutes.

(Which why it wasn't fair for her mother to tell her that the free running in Beacon Hills was a lot less conspicuous than the free running in Cleveland.

"There's the woods and the trees that you can climb. It'll be fun. You're like a damn monkey anyway."

"Trees? You want me to climb trees?"

"I'd rather you not climb anything but if you are, I want you climb a tree and fall to the forest floor than climb a steel infrastructure, fall, and go splat on the pavement. Now, are you keeping this stuffed owl or is he going into the donation bag?")

But no. Her glutes and her boyfriend and her social status were over. O – V – E – R because Beacon Hills was absolutely nowhere. It was at the foot of the mountains where there wasn't any dance team or football team. There was lacrosse. Who were apparently state champions but lacrosse? Really? There wasn't even a cheerleading squad to try out for.

All because the grandmother she hardly knew was apparently dying.

It wasn't that Isabelle was heartless. It was upsetting and she was sad because even if their relationship was relegated to bi-monthly phone calls and a nice check mailed on her birthday, it was her grandmother and she had a soft spot for the old bird.

But who the hell played lacrosse?

So the four-day drive from what Isabelle called home to what Isabelle was currently calling Hell was a tense one. She knew her mother was trying but it was still frustrating so even when her mother was lecturing her on how mature she was to not be acting like this, Isabelle was milking her age for all that it was worth.

The look of joy on her grandmother's face when they showed up on her doorstep that Friday sent the guilt right on. There were actually tears and Isabelle just didn't do tears. Thank god her grandmother's attention switched to her mother and Isabelle was able to slip away.

Sitting on the back porch, all she could smell was chlorine and nature. Chlorine was familiar but nature? That was fairly new for the city girl that she was. The smell of damp leaves. The house was nestled right on the edge of the woods, the redwoods looming over the pool house roof.

It really was quite beautiful here; she'd give it that.

Looking over her shoulder, she watched her mother and grandmother talking in the kitchen, laughing over glasses of wine. Typical, but it was a fond typical. She turned back to the woods and froze. A wolf was on the other side of the gate.

Logically she knew she should be scared. She knew she should scream or run back inside but instead she just stood there unmoving. She was having a staring contest with a wolf. The wolf wasn't moving either, still in the shadows of the trees just watching her.

"Isabelle! Honey, come inside!" Her mother's voice pierced the air and broke the trance. She blinked and the wolf was gone.

She didn't mention the strange encounter with the wolf to her mother or grandmother even though she suspected that the encounter was out of the ordinary. Wolves didn't even live in California any more. But, she reasoned with herself that night while she lay in the guest room, staring at the red numbers on the clock as they turned to two am, they were technically close enough to Oregon and the National Forest that maybe, just maybe, a stray wolf or two had wandered over. It wasn't impossible.

As if her thoughts were being broadcast, a lone howl echoed through the night and Isabelle could hear it clear enough even with the window closed. Something about it twisted something inside her chest and she could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She didn't get up though, just stayed in bed staring at the clock until the howling lulled her to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Isabelle Martin's Life Is Totally Over  
**Chapter**: 2  
**Summary**: Isabelle's life as she knows it is _totally_ over. Not only is her mom moving her 2,000 miles away from home, but it's not even to someplace cool like Los Angeles or San Francisco. No. It's Beacon Hills which is the most _Boring. Place. Ever_.

**A/N**: So... sudden inspiration. I have no idea if I'm going to continue this or not. Making this up as I go. If you want to see more, please comment :) No beta so all mistakes are mine (aka it could probably be a lot better). Like, this is pretty bad. Fragmented, stream of conscious, written in 20 minutes sorta deal because I have all these ideas in my head that I need to crank out that is no pressure, no nothing. Hence this. Maybe I'll come back down the line and make this a legit story, but for now, harken back to the days of being a 14 year old fic writer just cranking out some B.S until the big idea comes along.

Also, we're totally blaming The Sims 3 for this. It's EA/Maxis' fault.

* * *

The first week in Beacon Hills, besides the persistent wolf howls at night or the fact that Isabelle was pretty sure that the wolf she saw the first night was stalking the house, was uneventful. There was unpacking to do, time to spend with Gramma, doing the whole passive aggressive silent treatment on her mother. Isabelle was pretty sure her mother didn't notice because _"Unlike you, dear, I have my new job starting Monday. You still have two weeks of summer break. Mind your grandmother and be good"_

Lydia Martin had been one of the more popular professors back at Case Western. She'd even been in the running for the Field's Medal a few times and Isabelle grudgingly knew that moving was just as hard on her mother as it was on her, maybe even harder (if she was feeling generous because yes, sometimes Isabelle could be generous). But at least things were secure for her. The University of California had a campus in the next town over that was more than happy to have the good professor on staff.

At least her mom was looking into the post-secondary courses for her.

Regardless, the college school year had started so it was up to Isabelle to take her grandmother to her twice monthly check-up. She hated hospitals. She absolutely hated them and always had. People would always say that hospitals smelled like vomit and antiseptic and that weird sweet smell of hospital food. For Isabelle? All she could smell was rot. Not the sorta nice rotting smell of leaves in the woods? But gag-me trash bag rot. Her grandmother seemed to understand her incredible desire to _not_ be in the waiting room and sent her off to go wait by the car and she gladly picked her up on it. It was a plan that would've gone better if she actually knew where she was going. Which she totally didn't.

Great.

"Just great," she muttered and blew a strand of hair out of her face as she tried to get her bearings. Okay. Well, everything looked kind of… friendlier. Blue walls instead of pale yellow. So that meant maternity maybe?

"Can I help you?"

Isabelle spun around so fast that the woman who spoke jumped back with a yelp which had Isabelle jumping back in turn which then to the weird awkward tittering thing that she hated. "Um, yeah. I'm trying to get back to the parking lot."

The woman made a sound of understanding. She was shorter with a lot of curly brown hair that was graying but she was seriously lacking in the crows feet department so Isabelle wasn't sure if she was dealing with the mom-type or the gramma type. Regardless, the nurse was looking at her curiously and it was making Isabelle twitch. "What did you say you're name was?"

Okay. Weird. "I didn't," she said a little stiffly and her neck hair was prickling. Something really wasn't right here and she really didn't need this on top of the hospital anxiety. "I just need the parking lot."

"Is everything alright here?"

Okay, what was with people coming up behind her? "Alright, seriously? Is this hospital policy to scare the crap out of people?" she snapped and oh hey, this guy was a doctor if the coat was any indication. And tall.

And looking at her with the same weird look this nurse was giving her. "I just want to get back to my car."

At least the good doctor stopped giving her that weird look at this point. He smiled at her and okay, that was a really nice smile. "I'm actually headed out myself. Melissa, could you check on room 615? The kids look like they could be in need of some of your stand-up."

Okay this was just fucking weird and there was no getting away from walking out with this guy if she actually wanted to get out so Isabelle sucked it up and fell in step beside him. "So, first time here, I take it?"

Wait, he was going to try have a conversation with her? _Great_. "Yeah. My mom's working so I had to bring my gramma in for some tests."

"Most kids end up in here for one reason or another here. You were lucky to have stayed out of trouble." He grinned down at her, clearly teasing her.

Isabelle? Had never been someone who was friendly with strangers. Old ladies in the supermarket when she was four or new teachers in third grade. She was wary and shy and she did not tolerate 'trying to be your buddy' bullshit that most parents made their kids put up with. Her mom was the social butterfly but she never, ever tried to push Isabelle. She'd warm up on her own time. Usually in an abrasive, passive aggressive sort of way but she made it work. Most people just made her feel uncomfortable and okay, so there was the weird look the doctor gave her not even five minutes ago but now? It was weird. He just felt… familiar. Not a super huge feeling, not like her mom familiar with the smell of her perfume and shampoo and something inherently mother. No, this was… The only way she could describe it was warmth.

Maybe that concussion she had three weeks ago was coming back because Christ, those were weird thoughts. She realized that she hadn't answered the doctor and he was still looking at her, waiting. Answers. Right. "I've actually been in the hospital a lot. Just not here. Moved here earlier this week."

For some reason his smile just got bigger but it wasn't creepy and she just needed to get out of here because this was just weird. "Well, welcome to Beacon Hills. You'll be going to the High School still? You'll like it. Good school, good people. My nephew goes there, Ryan. He's on the lacrosse team."

"Yeah, I gotta ask. What's with the lacrosse?"

The doctor laughed. "No idea. I used to play years ago. I think it was my old coach. Something about Basketball being for barbarians. Anyway, here you are. Isaac Lahey, by the way," he said, extending his hand. She took it, still unsure of the feeling she had and something in his eyes flickered.

"Isabelle Martin," she replied, trying the whole smiling thing that she wasn't particularly good at. There was still that flickering in his eyes when he dropped her hand and with a wave, he left.

Beacon Hills was _weird_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Isabelle Martin's Life Is Totally Over  
**Chapter**: 3  
**Summary**: Isabelle's life as she knows it is _totally_ over. Not only is her mom moving her 2,000 miles away from home, but it's not even to someplace cool like Los Angeles or San Francisco. No. It's Beacon Hills which is the most _Boring. Place. Ever_.

**A/N**: So... sudden inspiration. I have no idea if I'm going to continue this or not. Making this up as I go. If you want to see more, please comment :) No beta so all mistakes are mine (aka it could probably be a lot better). Like, this is pretty bad. Fragmented, stream of conscious, written in 20 minutes sorta deal because I have all these ideas in my head that I need to crank out that is no pressure, no nothing. Hence this. Maybe I'll come back down the line and make this a legit story, but for now, harken back to the days of being a 14 year old fic writer just cranking out some B.S until the big idea comes along.

Also, we're totally blaming The Sims 3 for this. It's EA/Maxis' fault.

* * *

Okay so it was just two random, weird things that happened. It didn't mean that she had to totally write the town off her list and hightail it back to Cleveland. All she had to do was avoid the woods and the weird yet kinda familiar and nice doctor at the hospital and it would be fine. Perfectly fine. And Isabelle kept reminding herself of this as she made her way through the deserted high school in search of the office. The main doors had been locked but the gym was open, a few students in what she assumed to be lacrosse uniform putting things together. She could still feel their eyes on her back. Maybe she looked different from other girls. Were the red streaks in her dark hair unacceptable?

And why on earth was she actually worried about this anyway?

Maybe Beacon Hills was bad after all. Maybe there was something in the town water supply that was driving her crazy. She was already talking to herself. Okay, so it hadn't gotten to the out loud point yet but still! Alright, that was it. Starting tomorrow she was going back to jogging every morning and looking for a gym to free run in. Or maybe there was a place around town that she could run in.

"Can I help you?"

Isabelle swore rather eloquently and loudly as she spun around. "Will people stop fucking _doing that_!?" she yelped and the man behind her had the nerve to look amused. "God, you're like the _fifth_ person to do that."

"You should be more aware of your surroundings then," he said lightly with a shrug. Isabelle was tall for a girl but he didn't have much height on her even with her boots but what he lacked in height he made up in the whole hot Dad Next Door look. Blonde and blue eyed and definitely –

Familiar. Somehow. It took a moment but Isabelle recognized the feeling as the same one Doctor Lahey had given her the other day. And whatever feeling she was getting, he was getting something too because his eyes narrowed just a bit and he took a step forward. "School doesn't start for two weeks and you don't look like one of my students."

Teacher. Right. "I'm new this year. I was trying to find the office to get my schedule and post-secondary paperwork?" He didn't answer her right away, he just kept walking closer and she took a couple steps back. He noticed and stopped moving forward but there was still that look on his face and Isabelle was trying to remember if the pepper spray was still on her keychain. "Office? Am I going in the right direction 'cause I usually can't even find my way out of a paper bag let alone this place." Whatever confusion or curiosity he had gave way to amusement and he pointed down the hall behind her. "Straight down until you see the staircase and hang a left. You can't miss it."

"Thanks," she said and took off without actually running away from the guy. So she lied. Three times the weird adults meant that something was _definitely_ up.

Maybe the adults were pod people.

Did she tell her mom? _"Hey mom, so this town I didn't want to move to in the first place? Is filled with creepy adults who keep looking at me funny and I'm pretty sure they might be planning on sacrificing me so their precious lacrosse team can win another state championship so can I please go back home and live with Casey?_"

Yeah, that wasn't going to fly. At least the school secretary didn't look at her funny. The old lady just handed her a pile of papers to fill out and said that post-secondary enrollment was closed until Isabelle pulled out who her mother was and that tune surprisingly changed. Which was interesting enough to file away for future use if needed. For now though, she was looking at the AP class options and was becoming increasingly tempted to just say fuck it and see if she could apply for early graduation.

Rubbing her eyes she looked up from the packet at the mostly empty school parking lot. There were a few cars in various states of repair that clearly belonged to students and then there was a vintage black Camaro idling near the tree line. It was out of the ordinary enough to catch her notice and Isabelle studied it, feeling something in her chest that she couldn't quite identify. It bothered her enough though that she hurried back inside to finish requesting classes and when she exited the building twenty minutes later, the car was gone.

She was going to be sacrificed so the lacrosse team could win. Yup. Totally was gonna happen.

_"Uncle Peter? Why's mommy crying?"_

_"Oh, a lot of things, kiddo, but I think this time it's because she misses your daddy."_

She couldn't remember much of what her uncle looked like. He'd gone away when she was young. When mom had gotten a paying position at the University and her schedule actually fit with the private school schedule. She missed him sometimes, an ache of something missing. A warmth and familiarity.

Isabelle had ventured to her mother's room that night and was going to tell her about the sacrifice for the lacrosse team when she heard the sniffling through the door.

She'd never seen her mother cry. Sure she got that misty-eyed mom look when she did something particularly earth shattering like win the debate or get her a particularly thoughtful mother's day present but she'd only ever heard her mother cry. Snatches of sniffling and hiccups and her uncle had always whisked her off for ice cream during those times and when they'd come back her mother would be in the living room looking out the window and she'd crawl into her lap and tell her mother that she loved her and her mother, her beautiful mother with her long red hair would snuggle her in close and whisper about how much she loved her and, somewhat peculiarly on retrospect, that nothing would ever happen to her.

_"Hey mom, I know you're upset about something but can I please leave so I don't get sacrificed to the lacrosse team? I promise I'm not making it up_".

Yeah. Right.

Isabelle moved to go back to her room when she heard another voice. This one was a man's voice, low, rough. Nothing familiar. That was… what was her mom doing with some guy in her room? And she was crying?

"…I didn't tell her because she doesn't shift, Derek."

Derek? Shifting? Isabelle pressed her ear to the door, torn between bursting in to protect her mother and waiting to hear what they were saying.

"What do you mean she doesn't shift?"

"She's got speed and some strength and little things like that but she's… she's not… the only thing I can think is my immunity did something when I was pregnant but I'm not a geneticist and I wasn't going to go poking my nose in the biology department to ask. Peter wouldn't answer any of my questions." Her mother sniffed more and Isabelle could hear the creak of the bed and rustle of sheets. There was an answer but it was too low for her to make out. Either way, whatever her mother was talking about? Was about her. There was something wrong with her?

"Izzy? Can you come help with the dishes?"

Her grandmother's voice startled her out of her thoughts and Isabelle jerked away from the door so fast that she knocked into the bookcase behind her, sending books to the floor. Her eyes widened and she looked at her mother's door in horror before running downstairs before she was spotted.

_Shifting_?


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Isabelle Martin's Life Is Totally Over  
**Chapter**: 4  
**Summary**: Isabelle's life as she knows it is _totally_ over. Not only is her mom moving her 2,000 miles away from home, but it's not even to someplace cool like Los Angeles or San Francisco. No. It's Beacon Hills which is the most _Boring. Place. Ever_.

**A/N**: I want to say a BIG THANK YOU to everyone who is favoriting and reviewing. You have no idea how much it means to me that a story that wasn't meant to be serious at all (and really only half effort is being put into it) is being enjoyed. I hope you all continue to stick with this and in the mean time, please review and check out my other teen wolf story :)

* * *

Isabelle didn't see her mother at all that night and when she saw her at breakfast the next morning, her mother seemed totally normal. She kept looking at her over the edge of her cereal bowl while her mother puttered around the kitchen on her cell phone.

Her shiny red hair was perfect, curled and pinned up and somehow she was always able to pull off the fancy hairstyles when she was working the Calvin Klein jeans and silk blouses. Whenever she tried to mimic, all Isabelle ended up looking like was a high priced hooker. Her mother blamed her over-indulgence in bright make up but Isabelle wasn't planning on giving up her eyeliner and red eye-shadow anytime soon.

"I'm going to be late home tonight, sweetie," her mother said when her phone conversation was done. "Why don't you and your gramma go out tonight, hm? There's that nice restaurant on the square I used to go to when I was your age."

Isabelle stirred the dregs of her cereal and tried to figure out if she should say something. "With Derek?" she asked casually.

Her mother wasn't the world's best liar. There was always that little moment, that little reaction before she covered it up with the most non-genuine smile ever. It continued to shock Isabelle anytime someone bought that smile because her mother was doing it now while she reapplied her lip-gloss. "Who, sweetie?"

"The man who was in your room last night. You called him Derek." She let her spoon drop in her bowl and leaned against the edge of the counter in an effort to get her mother to stop looking at her compact mirror. "And you said something about—"

The compact snapped closed with a sharp _click_ and her mother's shoulders straightened up. Yeah, Isabelle recognized that too. That was the 'mommy's not amused with your pushing of things' that started when she'd ask where Uncle Peter had gone years ago. "That was the TV, sweetie," she said in her 'mom' voice. Unlike Casey's mom's voice? Lydia Martin's mom voice did something inside of her that had her always listening. She didn't do it often – Isabelle and her mom got along pretty well. Casey used to say it was like her mom took advice from César Milan, doing the whole 'pack leader' voice.

_"…I didn't tell her because she doesn't shift, Derek."_

It didn't help that when she was little, her mother tended to call her 'puppy' instead of 'sweetie'.

* * *

Another week in Beacon Hills and Isabelle was beginning to think she was being followed.

Scratch that. She _knew_ she was being followed.

Beacon Hills, while not the world's smallest town? Was small enough that you could start to recognize certain cars that were regular and the vintage black camera tended to stick out more than the mini-van with the bad muffler you could hear two miles away. Part of her was tempted to march over and slam the driver to the pavement but logic tended to win in those arguments. Her mother and uncle had taken stranger danger to a whole new level when she was a kid that the childhood fear kept her back.

She was never able to get a good look at the driver because the windows were ridiculously tinted. Isabelle wasn't going to let it bother her but then she woke up the Friday before school for her morning jog and saw the damn car parked at the end of the street.

_Alright Mister Vintage Camaro. If that's how you want to play it…_

As expected, she heard the car start to move as she made the turn into town. She knew the driver had seen her see him, so that was good, that they were both sort of on the same page.

And still he followed.

Isabelle thought about trying to lose him, cutting through yards and hopping fences and it would've been ridiculously easy but her sense of direction was pretty terrible and so she just kept with the regular route.

_Beacon Hills Sheriff's Office_.

The front desk had one occupant – a younger guy (older than her anyway) with short blonde hair and biceps to kill for. He looked up when she came in so she didn't have the opportunity to appreciate aforementioned biceps but she was treated to a pair of really nice blue eyes and smile. "Can I help you?"

Wow, that was a really nice voice. Kind of low and rough and – oh, right. Wait, was that everyone's default greeting? Can I help you? Lack of originality much?

Right. Stalker.

"Yeah, this black Camaro has been following me around for a couple days now? And now it seems like it knows where I live." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. His frown was cute too and he came over to her, hand on his hip over his gun like a cop off of TV. He got closer and she could smell – was that Armani? _Nice_.

Momentary aftershave distraction aside, she didn't miss the look of recognition on his face or the sigh he gave as he looked back at her them went back to the counter. What the hell did that mean?

He picked up the phone, hit a couple buttons and leaned back. "Hey, Sherriff. Your favorite buddy is bothering a lovely young lady here and she could use some assistance." He glanced over his shoulder at her and gave her what she thought was supposed to be a reassuring smile. Was he trying to flirt with her? She looked totally gross in her CWRU t-shirt and jogging capris and her hair was a tangled mess. "He'll take care of this. Sometimes Mr. Hale gets a little –"

"Creepy." The two of them looked over to the door that opened to see another man come in. The star on his shirt signaled the whole sheriff thing. "He does that. This whole Mr Lurky McLurkison thing he thinks he can get away with because he has the Camaro and owns half the town at this point." He peered at her, arms crossed. "So, you must be Isabelle."

Isabelle frowned in confusion. "I… um—" The sheriff held up a hand.

"I was friends with your mom growing up. Good friends actually. Biggest crush ever but, well, here I am and there she went and," the other man – Deputy Isabelle figured at this point – cleared his throat pointedly and the sheriff looked sheepish. "Well that's old news, history, past is past. Good to have you in town. I promise that Derek Hale won't be bothering you any more." He looked serious about that particular point and it caught Isabelle a little off guard until the name he said register.

"Wait, _Derek_?" Her voice must've sounded funny because all eyes turned on her; curious and frustrating just like all the other adults in this town who weren't related to her.

"The one and only," the Sheriff said carefully. "I'll go talk to him. Jason? Why don't you drive Isabelle home, huh?"

"Sure thing, Sheriff." Isabelle watched the Sheriff leave and she moved to the glass door to watch what was going on. She felt the deputy come up behind her, the jingle of keys tinkling in her ears. He didn't say anything though and Isabelle thought he might understand. Understand what, she couldn't be sure but she watched the window roll down and then the Sheriff shifted so she couldn't see the person inside the car.

"Damn," she muttered and she heard the soft chuckle behind her.

"Don't worry about it. Stiles'll take care of it. Come on. Let me get you home." Jason nudged past her to lead the way out and Isabelle followed him. It didn't stop her from looking over her shoulder over at the Camaro until they turned the corner to the cruisers. "Sheriff Stiles?"

"Well, Sheriff Stilinski," Jason corrected with a bit of a grin as he unlocked the doors to the cruiser. "But we all just call him Stiles. It's kind of funny. When he first became sheriff, he was really big on being called Sheriff Stilinski – his dad was sheriff, you see. He retired a few years ago," he explained and they pulled out the back drive of the parking lot, not going past where the Camaro was. Isabelle tried not to feel put out and instead worked on enjoying the fact that she was in a small space with a cute guy who smelled _amazing_. "And Sheriff Stilinski was a badass, I'm telling you. Aviator glasses, the whole cowboy stride thing. Anyway, so Stiles got promoted when his dad retired and it's gotta be this father-son thing because he walked around the station for a month trying to do this whole bad ass Chuck Norris Sheriff thing. Yeah, didn't last."

It was then that Isabelle realized that he was worried about her. Her Uncle Peter used to do that. When she was upset or missing her mother, he'd tell her something that happened to him that day or some kind of anecdote that was completely unrelated to what she'd been worrying about and that's what the deputy was doing. Trying to make her feel better. So the smile she ended up giving him was genuinely grateful and that seemed to make his own grin bigger.

His eyes were amazingly blue.

"So how'd he stop? It sounds like someone would have to make him?"

That got a laugh out of Jason. "Oh man, my older cousin did. I'd just moved here to finish out high school and was living with her and her husband and Stiles is like, best friends with Scott, right? But Scott I guess didn't have the heart to tell him so Allison shows up one day and I'll tell you she doesn't look it? But she can be pretty damn intimidating when she wants to be."

Allison? The name sounded familiar. "Allison Argent?"

Jason nodded. "It's McCall now. You met her?"

"No, but my mom talks about her friend Allison sometimes." Jason nodded and shifted the car into park and Isabelle realized they were in front of her house. "Oh, um, how did you—"

"Don't worry about Derek bothering you. We'll take care of it," Jason assured her. "Good luck on Monday. Beacon Hills High won't know who hit it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: Isabelle Martin's Life Is Totally Over  
**Chapter**: 5  
**Summary**: Isabelle's life as she knows it is _totally_ over. Not only is her mom moving her 2,000 miles away from home, but it's not even to someplace cool like Los Angeles or San Francisco. No. It's Beacon Hills which is the most _Boring. Place. Ever_.

**A/N**: I do plan on going back when this story is done and cleaning it up and fixing it up all shiny. You'll have noticed that the chapters are getting progressively longer as I find a stride in what was meant to be a crack-fic. It's now spawning a lot of gif sets and universes, which you can check out thatfilmgirl . tumblr tagged/isabelle!verse

* * *

Isabelle watched Jason and the cruiser drive away from behind the little window in the front door. So maybe there wasn't flirting. She was seventeen and he was… totally not. Still. Cute. More than cute.

"We're working on it, Stiles."

She'd heard her mother's voice when she came in but it had been muffled. Now though she turned and leaned back against the door and watched her come down the steps, cellphone to her ear. Her mother looked at her, nodding along to whatever was being said to her. "Thanks. She's here."

The phone was clicked off and all that was left was silence and the sound of her mother's heartbeat in her ears. The two of them were caught in some kind of staring contest and Isabelle didn't know if she should feel angry or upset or just relieved that maybe, just maybe, her mother would start talking to her.

It had been just the two of them for years now. A lot of the time their main mode of communication was the whiteboard on the fridge. Her mom would have a faculty meeting or she'd have dance team. There would be some kind of math conference and they wouldn't see each other for days on end but always, _always_ without fail, there would be that one night where her mom would come home with pizza and wings and mozzarella sticks and they'd sit in front of the television bickering over whether they'd watch _The Notebook_

(_It's a classic!_/_It's __**old**_)

or _The Avengers_

(_But it's old!_ / _But it has Jeremy Renner and you love Jeremy Renner!_).

Sometimes it would be a DVR marathon of whatever had been recorded and forgotten. Her mother would stroke her fingers through her hair and Isabelle would be a boneless puddle on her lap as she talked about how her and her best friend, Casey, had a fight again and did her mother think it would be possible to graduate early?

Sure, Lydia Martin would keep secrets. It had been that way her whole life with the identity of her father and why they never went to visit Gramma in California but Isabelle had never known any different and she was always so busy anyway that she never quite remembered to push it. Sure there were times, like when she was twelve she accidentally broke the faucet off the sink in a show of strength no little girl should have and her mother had explained it away with shoddy installation. Or the time Coach wanted to know if she was doping for beating the school 500 meter dash record by a rather shocking thirty seconds on her first try. Good genes.

_She doesn't shift, Derek_.

When that all started happening, it wasn't like Uncle Peter was around to give her answers. She'd left him so many voicemails, none of them returned until one day _this phone number is no longer in service_.

Her mother broke the stare first. She came down the steps, tugging her blue silk robe tighter around her and Isabelle wondered how long it had been since she towered over her mother by a good four inches. Why her mother insisted on make-up and mascara when she was so effortlessly beautiful.

Did her mother always look this sad or was she finally starting to notice.

"Whatever I tell you, Iz, do you promise me that you'll believe it?" her mother asked softly and it was a strange request because she was using the defeated voice and if she'd been planning on lying, she wouldn't be saying that.

It didn't matter though. "I just want to know what you're keeping from me, mom."

Lydia nodded and took her hand, soft and warm and squeezed. "Come on, sweetie."

* * *

Isabelle leaned back in her chair and stared at the cold cup of tea in front of her because she couldn't look at her mother. She just couldn't. Everything her mother just told her…

Maybe her mother had finally cracked. Maybe her father was actually some Hell's Angel one night stand her mother picked up on some crazy post-high school road trip and she was banking on her believing the werewolf bed time stories Uncle Peter used to tell her. About a werewolf king who lived in the forest and a big bad wolf took the werewolf queen away and –

Oh god, those stories had been about her parents.

Isabelle took a deep breath and shut her eyes. "So my dad is Derek Hale."

"Yes, he is."

Okay. "He never knew about me."

"Right."

The lack of child support and visitation now made sense. Okay. "And he's a werewolf. I'm half werewolf."

"Right."

"And I don't turn into a werewolf because you have this weird immunity thing that keeps you from being infected by werewolf bites," she said and opened her eyes to look at her mother.

The edges of her mother's lips were white with tension and she looked so nervous. "That's what we think. That it kept the gene from fully triggering or mutating or however it's meant to work."

Isabelle exhaled slowly. The nice thing about her mother was that she was a scholar and a mathematician on top of it. And while there were pretend numbers or invisible numbers or whatever the hell they were called in math, her mother liked facts and was pragmatic. She'd listen to whatever you had to say as long as you had the facts and proof to back it up, or at least could logically make the hypothesis happen.

So the fact that she was saying that her father was a werewolf and she had wolf immunity and that her name had nothing to do with those really trashy books Rebecca in Econ liked was a bit easier to swallow because it just wasn't her mom. Her mother did not give in to flights of fancy and make believe. Harry Potter was 'too out there' for her.

"So I'm Werewolf Lite," she said, repeating the term her mother had put out there. "It's not normal for people to hear heartbeats or run as fast as I can or lift as much as I can without training."

Her mother nodded. "Right. That's one of the reasons why we came back. Isaac has high enough clearance at the hospital and he thinks that there's someone in the lab who can be discreet. It's been long enough since I ran away that the Alpha Pack shouldn't be coming back. With just Scott's mom, it would be more difficult and we didn't want to put her at risk."

Scott who was married to Allison who was the cousin of Jason who drove her home. Scott was best friends with the Sheriff and Scott whose mother was the nurse at the hospital that had looked at her funny and Isaac was the doctor who had been so weird that used to play lacrosse at the high school.

The high school where her mother's ex-boyfriend, Jackson, worked as the coach and apparent guidance councilor. Scott, Isaac, and Jackson who were _also_ werewolves in her father's werewolf _pack_, which also included a woman named Erica, her husband Boyd, their children, and Scott and Allison's son.

Oh fuck, how was her mother telling her all this with a straight face? How was she not falling into a fit of hyperventilation and manic laughter because her mother had gone off the deep end trying to convince her she was half a werewolf?

Oh god. Her life was _totally_ over.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: Isabelle Martin's Life Is Totally Over  
**Chapter**: 6  
**Summary**: Isabelle's life as she knows it is _totally_ over. Not only is her mom moving her 2,000 miles away from home, but it's not even to someplace cool like Los Angeles or San Francisco. No. It's Beacon Hills which is the most _Boring. Place. Ever_.

**A/N**: This chapter was going to be longer to incorporate the entire dinner but I know that it had been a rather substantial amount of time between updates and this was a fairly long chapter with a lot going on, not to mention a lot will be going on with the dinner so I figure that being it's own chapter is a good thing.

Fair warning: as soon as I figure out how I'm ending this (as in: do I have this idea and save it for a second story or just keep going with this one?) I am going back and re-editing this so the chapters are longer, there's more content, etc. Which means this might become fewer chapters, which means that kudos and reviews will go away. So I do hope that when I go about re-updating that you come back to read. I plan on adding a lot more content (to the beginning mostly, since it's sorely lacking) so I hope that is incentive. This is going to be the first fic I've completed in almost ten years and your support has been just so helpful and welcoming. Thank you :)

* * *

Her mother mercifully left her alone after their talk and Isabelle proceeded to lock herself in the bathroom and retreated to her old standby of a comforting bubble bath. The water had gone tepid a while ago and most of the bubbles had vanished but she didn't plan on getting out. Getting out meant having to continue on with her life. A life where her father was an Alpha werewolf and her own werewolf genes were broken and that things like this were actually _real_.

Isabelle's life as she knew it was totally over. You didn't come back from something like this. You couldn't make yourself forget and Isabelle had tried in the past to forget things. The intense loss when her uncle had left. There had been that hollow feeling that her mother couldn't fill and she'd tried so hard to see if forgetting about her uncle would make the feeling go away but everything smelled like him.

Right. Because he was a wolf and she had wolf-y senses and that took the term 'scent memory' to an entirely new level. Right. Not to mention that no one knew what happened to him after he left almost ten years ago.

"It's not fair," she muttered and reached for her cell phone to see if Casey had texted her back yet. No new messages. Sighing, she set the phone back aside and examined the chipping blue nail polish on her toes and tried to ignore the sounds of her mother moving through the house. It was easier to tune the sound out and ignore it when they were on different floors but her mother was right there down the hall pacing and talking to herself and Isabelle couldn't make out the words which was both frustrating and a relief at the same time. However the relief dissipated when she heard footsteps coming down the hall and the knock on the door.

"Izzy?" her mother ventured and Isabelle considered the differences in voice. Further down the hall, there was the muffling but up close like that, it was as if her mother was standing right next to her. She listened to her try suppress a sigh and the slight creak of the door as it was leaned against. "I know you're mad at me. I was pretty mad too when I found out that everyone was keeping things from me. I just want you to know that I wanted you to have a normal life for as long as possible, okay? I… I wanted to protect you. So you can hate me as much as you want but your father didn't have anything to do with this, okay? So please don't be mad at him."

Isabelle didn't say anything because she wasn't sure what to say. Was she mad? Yes, she was mad that her life had been turned upside down. There was a time in her life when she was mad that she didn't have a father. Those years in middle school when no one in her life was telling her how to punch a boy out when he was putting his hands in places where they didn't belong or going to the Girl Scout Father-Daughter dance. Well, the Parent-Daughter dance since some of the other girls had two moms or just a mom or however those things worked.

Her mother must've taken her silence for something positive because she continued on. "I got off the phone with Allison a couple minutes ago. She thought it would be nice to do a pack dinner. Everyone else wants to meet you and I thought that might be nice, right?"

Guilt gnaws in her chest. Her life got upended too, and in a worse way. Seventeen and pregnant and running away from everything that she knew, trying to keep a baby safe from a ruthless pack of werewolves. And for the first time in seventeen years she gets to see her friends and the man she was in love with. Still in love with? Isabelle couldn't really tell on that front.

"Yeah, mom," she finally says and she could hear the way her mother's body relaxed. "Sounds nice."

"Good! Well, we'll leave around five. It'll be nice. I told Allison you like pineapple upside-down cake." Oh no. Her mother was babbling. Shit. Her mother didn't babble unless she was nervous or upset and Isabelle hated that she was causing it, but she also hated everything that was kept from her and it was warring emotions.

"Thanks, mom," Isabelle said with more effort. Lydia stopped speaking and she could almost see her nodding, her red curls bouncing along her shoulders and the eager, hopeful look on her face. God, what was her life?

"Good… I love you, puppy. Don't stay in there too long."

Tears started to sting and Isabelle shut her eyes, sinking lower into the water. "Love you too, mom."

Even though her father's house (_her father's house and when did she ever think she'd be using those words?_) is right behind her grandmother's house (_Does that make her Little Red Riding Hood?_), instead of trekking through the woods, Lydia packs them up in the Mercedes and goes the 'civilized' way.

Which starts off with a gate that has one of those keypads and intercoms and Isabelle is pretty sure she sees a camera up in the tree. Apparently a fence has been put up around the entire property (Well not the entire property. Apparently to pay for the upkeep of ten square miles of personal living space, the other twenty were made into the city nature preserve or something like that and how rich was this guy?) She figures though that for a dozen wolves or whatever, it's probably big enough. Or at least a good idea to have.

The driveway is a good mile long. It's paved, the asphalt fresh and smooth but Isabelle can see the tire tracks already wearing in. Well, there was the Camaro if that's any indication of the kind of cars the pack has.

_The pack_.

Of which her father was alpha was and Isabelle's rudimentary understanding of things compares it to the mayor or king or chief of the tribe. So did that make her the wolf princess or Pocahontas or something? Isabelle always knew she was special. You didn't get through life with Lydia Martin as your mother without getting a little bit of self-importance

She may or may not have been a princess seven years in a row for Halloween when she was a kid anyway.

Whatever tangent her thoughts were going to go on were further derailed by the smell of steak and smoke wafting through the trees and through the open window she could hear the distant crunch of leaves and the sound of children laughing. Isabelle knew that her mother couldn't hear it but looking over at her, she could say the way her mother relaxed in her seat even if the grip on the wheel was still tight.

"The kids are younger," her mother says in a weird, vaguely high-pitched voice and Isabelle realized that her mother was nervous too. She wanted this to work out. She could hear it, the rapid cadence of her heart, smell the slight tang of sweaty palms under her light perfume. "I think Scott and Allison's oldest is ten." Lydia makes a sound in the back of her throat as the house comes into view and Isabelle makes a sound too.

So did this make her the princess of the werewolves?

The house was… shockingly big. It wasn't that Isabelle was a stranger to big houses – she'd lived in Shaker Heights that was full of mansions and penthouses with friends who drove Porsches and Beamers. It was just that she hadn't been expecting the house nestled deep in the forest to be like that. Honestly, she'd been expecting something more, maybe, fairy tale cottage-ish? House to a bunch of werewolves living in the woods? It practically wrote itself. For a newer house it did have a more aged look to it though with brick and clapboard and gables. There were chimneys poking into the sky at weird places, the windows ornate and lined with black. She suddenly realized that it looked like her grandmother's house. The more modern 'Tudor' style. All it needed was a babbling brook or creek or something to make it straight out of a book.

The trees were encroaching, leaving barely any room around the house and drive. Isabelle wondered if that's how they avoided having to mow the lawn but wolves, she figured, didn't much need wide open spaces, right? The woods were supposed to be home. At least, that's what National Geographic said. With the trees all around, ancient and tall, everything smelled less like gasoline and laundry and more like wood and green and earth. Of course there was also the very nice smell of cooking meat and Isabelle inhaled deeply when her mom stopped the car. It was then that she caught the other scent, one not noticed from the drive.

Something warm spread inside her and it was a feeling that she hadn't felt in so long and this time it was a million times stronger, spreading through her fingers and toes like electricity. Isabelle turned and her eyes immediately went to the front door and the man standing there. He looked tall and broad standing there in the entryway. His hair was dark, a heavy brow, and stubble across his jaw. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his olive Henley pulling over broad shoulders and arms, his hair dark, face impassive and it was an almost frighteningly familiar look, one that Isabelle had seen over and over in the mirror for seventeen years.

_alphafatheralphahomefathersa fehomefatheralpha_

That warmth that was spreading intensified so much when their eyes met that it threatened to overwhelm her and the feeling was so _right_ that it was frightening. Her hand gripped the top of the car door and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the man even if she had wanted to. Isabelle was frozen with one leg still in the car and unable to move a muscle.

_"Uncle Peter? Why's mommy crying?"  
"Oh, a lot of things, kiddo, but I think this time it's because she misses your daddy." _

Isabelle had the overwhelming urge to do something. Something. Anything. Kowtow, run away screaming, fall to the ground and go into full on ugly sobbing or, scarier still, throw herself at him and never let go because _alphafatheralphahomefathersa fehomefatheralpha_ kept going through her head and through her veins and heart and into her bones and it was choking her, making it impossible to breathe. She covered it by looking down back to her seat to grab the pack of gum from the middle of the console just so she could break eye contact.

Her mother doesn't seem to notice what's going on because Isabelle could hear her making her way to him, a slight skip to her step that she'd never heard before. "You guys are just in time," Derek said and Isabelle feels a shudder go through her. _alphafatheralphahomefathersa fehomefatheralpha_ "Steaks are just about done."

Her mother replied but Isabelle didn't exactly register it. She felt raw, like her skin was turned inside out after their exchange and she kept her arms crossed over her chest like that could keep everything from bursting out. Her mother opened her mouth to say something then shut her mouth with an unsure look and Isabelle wanted to reassure her mother that everything was fine but it wasn't fine and she couldn't lie, not even to make her feel better. She kept her eyes on her though as she refused to look at the man who was her father to avoid that feeling but it was unavoidable when he murmured something in her ear and pressed a kiss to her temple and Isabelle felt like her skin was splitting. She was being pulled in two different directions. One to run away and one to run towards her mother and him (_her parents_, plural) and never leave.

She watched her mother smile and their eyes met again. For once, Isabelle couldn't read her mother's look or maybe it was that she was too frightened to hope that it was understood because understanding would mean that this was a joke and they'd go home. "Come on, Iz! You can grab the gum later!" Maybe her mother _did_ know how she felt, what she was doing. How could she not? Isabelle knew, however, that there was no running now. She was locked in and surrounded on all sides. So reluctantly, Isabelle followed her mother to the house, resolutely refusing to meet Derek's eyes.

The fact that he said nothing to her, only nodded before leading them inside, frightened Isabelle almost as much as the warring feelings. That nod? She knew that he _did_ understand and that realization was terrifying that this man that she didn't want to like, couldn't know how to like, was trying to be understanding.

_I take it back. I'd rather be sacrificed to the lacrosse team_.

The smell of the interior was both familiar and foreign. Familiar in the smell of wood and varnish and _life_. Unfamiliar in that there was an undercurrent under everything. It felt like the house back in Cleveland, before Uncle Peter left.

_packsafewarmpacksafewarm_

If the exterior was large and mildly intimidating, the interior was cozier by far. The foyer had the soaring ceiling but looking into the rooms off-shooting the hall, the same was not said for everything else. There was wood paneling and rugs and pictures everywhere. Covering every surface, settling deep inside the house, making it home. That was the differences with houses. You had the nice ones but there was no personality. They were sterile, empty but this house? This house had life to it. Love.

_packsafewarmpacksafewarm_

The sounds of laughter and children running and the smell of cooking food grew louder and stronger as Derek led them through the kitchen (a large, country affair with gleaming metal and granite) and outside into the backyard. There were fewer trees in the immediate vicinity, making room for a rather impressive wooden jungle gym and patio. The back porch they stood on spanned the length of the house and Isabelle didn't register it before but she could hear music – one of the local stations – coming from some rather decoratively hidden speakers.

They weren't noticed at first, at least from what Isabelle could tell but she was more focused on counting heads and exits to really register it. The main spectacle besides the teacher from the high school flipping steaks at the grill was the Sheriff tossing a football around with three children.

Stiles tossed the football, something he was clearly terrible at, but the others threw it too well, too hard for little kids. It actually worked that, as uncoordinated as he was he was just as good as the children. Another man who looked a little like Derek but darker skinned, stood off to the side heckling and randomly grabbing one of the children up into the air and swinging them around so they'd miss catching the ball. The little boy in the group of girls looked like him, so Isabelle surmised that the boy was Tad and the man Scott. It was Tad who noticed her obviously out of the group which meant that he completely missed the football and one of the little girls scooped it up with a cheer. Instead of resuming play, though, he walked towards them.

Isabelle could feel the eyes turning to watch what would happen and Isabelle shifted on her heels ever so slightly, ready to bolt as the urge inside to hightail it out of there grew stronger. She saw Derek do something similar – the only way she was able to recognize it – and scowled. So instead of bolting she stayed put. Unlike Derek who shifted away towards the grill but her mother stayed put because her mother was awesome and on her side even if she insisted on this whole werewolf thing being truth. As the boy neared, there was another unfamiliar feeling Isabelle encountered. It was warmth but instead of the warmth she had from the adults she'd met, the feeling was more protective. A more visceral protective feeling than she felt over the children she occasionally babysat. "You have a good arm," she said and her voice sounded cracked and thin with tension and the boy faltered a few steps and Isabelle realized that maybe he could sense that and she tried to smile.

Hesitant or not though, it was all he needed in the way of an entrance to start talking and he grinned, bounding closer to her with a nod. "Yup. I'm gonna be just as good as Dad one day. Do you play too? You should play with us. You can't be any worse than Stiles." The last part was said in a loud whisper as if Stiles might not be able to hear it, even though Isabelle caught the man rolling his eyes behind Tad before being tackled by the two little girls. Damn, this kid was adorable, crooked jaw and everything. Even with feeling eyes boring into hers, Isabelle did her best to focus on the boy. Which worked until a woman with dark hair came up to them. She was a taller woman, maybe almost as tall as her, chic and slim with wavy shoulder length hair and a warm smile.

"I don't know why they don't play football here. I'd never even _heard_ of lacrosse before I moved here," the women said and she reached down to ruffle the little boy's hair. It clicked then. Allison, her mother's best friend. Not a werewolf. "I heard you had the same reaction, huh?" Isabelle frowned a bit in confusion and the woman nodded over her shoulder to a man at the picnic table who waved. Ah. Doctor Isaac.

"Yeah, I was told it was _the_ thing here," Isabelle nodded uncomfortably and crossed her arms over her chest. _Try. Remember to try_.

"And you were so wrong," Stiles called out from the onslaught of little girls. "Good to see you again Isabelle. Don't listen to Allison about hating lacrosse. Less than a week in she was cheering at her first game. She loves it."

Allison rolled her eyes and huffed before turning to look down at her son. "What do we do when we meet new people, sweetie?"

Tad made face, reaching to fix his hair even if he just messed it up more. "I _like_ lacrosse. I'm gonna be good at that too," he insisted then let out an exasperated sigh at the need for manners. "Hello," he said, rolling his eyes an awful lot like Stiles. "I'm Tad. It's nice to meet you Isabelle." He paused, biting his lip, looking to steel himself up for something. "Will you set next to me for dinner?"

_Yes. Sacrificial virgin to the lacrosse team right here._


End file.
